As Rich as a Rogue by Jade Lee

Not when she was so busy damning herself for her behavior.
    How could she let him sweep her good sense away? It wasn’t just the dance, though that was reason enough. But add in the entire wager with the dowagers and the way he’d ordered the orchestra to play a waltz just for them, and she felt mortification all the way down through her toes. It was an ill-bred spectacle, and she had allowed it.
    â€œYou cannot leave,” inserted Lord Rimbury as he sauntered up to her side. “That’ll make them talk all the more.” He looked at Lord Whitly. “You should be the one to depart.”
    Whitly frowned. “Why would I allow gossip to dictate to me one way or the other?”
    Did he understand nothing? “You’re a wealthy man who will one day inherit an earldom,” she said. “Of course you wouldn’t allow gossip to deter you.”
    â€œExactly.” He folded his arms across his chest, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
    â€œBut you aren’t the only one being affected by your actions,” added Lord Rimbury.
    Lord Whitly opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. His brows lowered in a dark glower, and his gaze hopped between his friend and Mari. And then he looked at the people around them, all whispering to one another. “It is only talk. Why do you let it hurt you?”
    Because she was an unmarried woman in search of a husband. Because she wanted to be one of them some day. Not a bitter ape leader, but a woman accepted and powerful in her own sphere of influence. Because she dreamed of leaving her father’s Welsh name and taking on an English one with a family of her own.
    But she knew saying all that would not only be useless; it would reveal too much of what she held tight to her secret heart. So instead, she said what came easiest: to blame him for his inadequacy instead of looking at her own.
    â€œYou will never understand women if you do not consider that your actions have consequences not for you, but for anyone in a weaker position.”
    He shook his head. “I have not hurt you, Miss Powel. Whispers behind fans are of no consequence. When I cause someone to poison your food or shoot you from the shadows, then you may harp at me. But this…” He gestured disdainfully to the people around them. “This is trivialities trussed up to be important.”
    She gestured with her hands, a quick flick of her wrists to deflect his words. She wished they could, in truth, but she made sure her disgust of him showed plainly. “Why do you come into Society if you have no comprehension of it?”
    He sighed, his expression frustrated. “Why indeed?”
    She glared at him, wondering if he meant to answer his own question. But instead of speaking, he looked at her as if she could possibly fathom his motives.
    Meanwhile, Lord Rimbury released a low whistle. “It’s dreadfully hot in here. Should I get us something to drink?”
    A brandy, she thought, but she didn’t say it. Instead, she smiled at the man who was becoming a friend. “I should love some lemonade.”
    â€œExcellent,” he answered, but before he left, Lord Whitly held out his hand.
    â€œNo, I’ll get it. I’m afraid you’re right. I should not have come here until my mind was settled.”
    â€œAh,” returned Lord Rimbury. “So it was bad at home, then?”
    Oh dear. She’d been cutting up at him, when something dreadful had happened. And yet the man simply shrugged. “You know how tedious it is to look at endless pages of numbers. I fear my mind has run to madness after a week of it.”
    â€œYou were looking at your family accounts,” she deduced. It wasn’t proper for her to speak of it, but she hated pretending to be a birdbrain. She often assisted her father with his ledgers when he wished to be especially private about it. And of course, any woman who wanted to hold a prestigious